AS I SLOW down at a traffic light, I see a car is approaching fairly rapidly through the rear view window. It comes to a stop right behind me, both bumpers within kissing distance. As soon as the traffic light turns green, the shrill and impatient shriek of the rear vehicle’s horn reverberates through the stillness of the morning dawn.
Looking back at the occupant through the rear view window, I notice a man gesticulating wildly at me, as his son dressed in school clothes sits calmly by him, drinking all this up with the innocence of a pre-teen. When I fail to move forward in the manner that satisfies him, he rewards me with a rude gesture.
It is 9:00 am. I am at a bank patiently waiting my turn at the counter. There are many of us there that day, each with his set of financial needs.
Most are foreigners from Asian countries, undoubtedly eager to conduct their transactions and quickly hurry off to their jobs. The line is moving rather slowly at that time of the morning.
The door opens, and one of our own walks in with his teenage son. Looking over the long line, he walks over to the Customer Service desk. After a few moments, I notice the bank representative directing him to the queue. He stands uncertain for a few moments, taking in the long line. By then my time has come at the teller.
Grabbing his son’s hand, he marches over boldly to the counter window, and starts talking with the bank teller. With a gradual nudge, he pushes me to the side as he shoves his papers through the window slot.
When I admonish him for his rude behavior, he takes one look at me dressed in Western clothes and tells me to mind my own business. And to top it off, if I don’t like it, to leave. His teenage son appears to nod his head in agreement.
Needless to say, I make him chew those words upon the verification of my ethnic origins. With a scowl, he pulls his papers back and storms off.
A lady pushing a shopping cart at a supermarket. Her two children, ages about 8 and 10 follow behind wildly grabbing goods off shelves, and making a nuisance of themselves. At the next aisle, they stop at the candy display. Without much thought, both kids begin helping themselves to some candy bars.
Dropping the wrappers on the floor, they join their mother, who simply smiles at them.
At the soft drink display, she reaches for two small juice cartons and hands one to each, a reward for their earlier behavior. The kids notice my incredulous looks, but chose to ignore me. The mother gives me wicked and disapproving stare.
A drive on the Corniche. The GMC Suburban ahead seems to be littering the road every few feet, first with plastic bags, then sandwich wrappers, only to be followed by empty Pepsi cans. As I pull alongside, I gesture to the driver to lower his window. As we slow down, I yell out about the litter. In full view of all the occupants of the GMC, young and old, he rewards me with an Italian salute and arrogantly speeds off. I realize I am in shorts and a T-shirt.
What are we coming to, I wonder? Has our civic sense vanished along with the Corniche?
— Tariq A. Al-Maeena, [email protected]
